A Modest Proposal
by oldstone
Summary: Post-ep for 7.09 Larger Than Life, picks up pretty much right where the episode left off.


**A Modest Proposal**

House is upside down on his leather couch, his legs dangling over the backrest and the crown of his head mere inches away from brushing the rug, when there's a distinct click to signal a key turning in the lock. Knowing it is too late to run now anyway, he stays where he is in his strangely comfortable reclining position, and catches another piece of salty popcorn in his mouth as he stares at the TV screen through the glass coffee table top.

She sighs deeply but doesn't deign to acknowledge him in any other way. He listens to the clicking of her heels as she passes the couch and makes her way down his hallway, hears her turn on the light in the bathroom (the vent kicks in), and then there's some rummaging through his medicine cabinet. It isn't until she's passed him again with those steady and confident footfalls and he hears the creak of the front door that he props himself up on his elbows to regard her and speak up.

"You're not going to say a word?"

She pauses with her back still turned to him and her hand on the doorknob and for a second he's worried that she's really hurt. Not only because just a couple of hours ago her mother threatened to kill him if he did, but because what hurts her, hurts him more.

She pivots slowly. "You tried to blow me off on my birthday for this?" She gestures towards the TV, the scotch on the coffee table, or to his position on the sofa—he can't really tell since they're all in the same linear direction from her standpoint. She opens her mouth to say more, but he cuts in.

"I don't get it, I mean, I would have no problem with you blowing me on my birthday." He looks away and feigns puzzlement. "I may have forgotten a word there." Shaking his head, he shifts his eyes back to her face. "Anyway."

She rolls her eyes elaborately. "If you needed your—" She demonstrates quotation marks with her fingers, "—alone time tonight, why didn't you just say so?"

He shrugs and turns back to the TV. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"You'd think that after meeting my mom, one would know that I am quite used to getting my feelings hurt," she mutters, then louder and with a disapproving frown more befitting a mother talking to her teenage son, "Why are you lying like that?"

"I _said_," he grumbles through a mouthful of popcorn, "I didn't want to hurt—"

"Stop deflecting. You know what I meant." The sofa cushions dip slightly under her weight as she sits down next to him. She raises her eyebrows at him questioningly and her voice softens. "Does your leg hurt?"

He stops chewing. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She gives him a few seconds to change his mind but he doesn't so she assumes this must be a good day. She eyes the popcorn bowl and House must've noticed from the corner of his eye because he extends his arm to keep it as far away from her as he possibly can without getting up. "That'll go straight to your ass. Ow!"

"Man up," she snaps. Her attempt to shove his legs off the edge of the couch is in vain but the message gets across because after a minute she feels his knee gently nudging her shoulder.

"You're pretty from this angle."

She ignores him, even when he holds the bowl, which now nearly empty, right under her nose. Pouting slightly, he retracts the gesture. "There's some yoghurt left in the fridge," he tries.

"Is it low-fat?"

He hesitates. "No."

"Good."

A thought strikes him when she gets up. "What did you come to pick up anyway?"

"I ran out of contact lens solution," she calls over the noise of a drawer being pulled out and cutlery clattering together, and he loves the sound of her going about his kitchen as if she owns the place. "I was going to run to the store but everything closed up early because of Martin Luther King day." The fridge opens and, after a beat, closes again, and the volume of her voice gradually goes down when she approaches the couch again. "Then I remembered I brought a bottle of it here too. I figured since you were out with Wilson anyway, I could just swing by here real quick."

She flops back down next to him and props her feet up on the table, wordlessly pushing his head away from her thighs as he cranes his neck in an attempt to look up her skirt.

"Why didn't you bring Rachel?" he wonders.

"She's asleep. Marina's babysitting. I guess my mom wore her out in the park this afternoon." Cuddy swallows a spoonful of yoghurt and studies the words on the container, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Why? Do you miss her?"

House turns his attention back to the TV. "I like her."

"Perhaps you should sit up. All that blood flow to your head is making you talk nonsense."

"I mean it," he says, very seriously. "She reminds me of you. Considering the fact that she wasn't baked in your oven, you should be happy."

She's quiet but when House ventures a look in her direction, she appears content. He wets his finger and runs it over the bottom of the popcorn bowl to collect the remaining crumbs from in between the unpopped bits of corn. "So we should probably be married next time your mom gets here," he quips.

Cuddy laughs briefly. "Right. Do you want to come over for real tomorrow though? Now that we have the house to ourselves again, I think we should redecorate." Taking another bite of her yoghurt, she makes a point of keeping her eyes on the TV. "And, of course, by _redecorate_ I mean…" She purses her lips and tilts her head sideways noncommittally.

Oh, he _knows_ what she means.

"I'm serious," he croaks, looking up at her in awe, "will you marry me?"

"Never," she says affectionately and, leaning over, she kisses his salty lips.


End file.
